


Right Hand Man

by Chimera Manticore (chimeral_colors)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimeral_colors/pseuds/Chimera%20Manticore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a few theories going around tumblr that Ana was the one who took Junkrat's arm and leg from him, given his fear of bounty hunters. I sort of elaborated on it and threw in my headcanon that his loss of limbs was his reason for getting Roadhog to be his bodyguard, and now we have this. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

> THE TITLE IS A PUN IM A GENIUS

He really had always been a failure.

He had always found a way to ruin whatever he was doing, no matter what it was. Be it from his parents’ wedding, to how he interacted with the other kids when he was little, to even the present day, Jamison Fawkes was a failure. It was the only thing he couldn't fail at. And boy, if today wasn't his biggest fuck-up.

It had been twenty years since the Omnic Crisis ended. Six years since he found out about that wonderful secret of his. And two years since his parents had died trying to protect him and that secret. Two years since his last big fuck up. Since then, Junkrat had been chased by snipers, bounty hunters, and just idiots trying to get rich off some information. He'd been able to kill most of them, but some had had him running for cover and hiding until he was sure they'd gone- hours to days later.

He'd let his guard down today.

He'd fucked up.

A woman held him at knifepoint- she wore a black and blue headdress and a gray coat. Her gun was slung over her shoulder and on her back; a sign she was a sniper. Junkrat chuckled nervously.

“C-come on now,” he said, “can't we find a more friendly way to work this out?” The lady only frowned.

“Where is it?” She asked.

“Wh-where's what?”

“The treasure, idiot!” She snapped, gripping her machete tighter. “You're the only one who knows where it is, and I'll be damned if a Junker, of all people, going to be the one to get it.”

“Geez, what's that s’posed ta mean?” He muttered. “Us Junkers are great!”

“Shut up! Just tell me where it is!”

“Or what? You'll cut me with yer sword?” He joked, turning to leave. Ana growled and grabbed Junkrat by his wrist.

“Come on, ya drongo,” he said, trying to pull away. “Let me go!”

“Drongo?”

“Yeah, y’know! Drongo- crazy person and stuff, like a bitch.”

“Are- are you calling me a bitch?” She asked, and Junkrat cackled.

“Yeah, what did ya think, mate? Now if you'll excuse me…” He tried a second time to make an escape, but Ana tightened her grip on him, pulling him back again.

“You're going to regret that, scum,” she hissed, and brought her machete down on his arm, cutting it clean off.

God, did he scream.

Junkrat reeled back, holding what was left of his arm tenderly. He whimpered, assessing his damage, though he knew it was useless. It was pain like he’d never felt before- it shot completely up and down his arm, and he even seemed to hurt where there was nothing left. Ana dropped the half of his arm she’d cut off onto the floor.

“Y-you’re bloody insane, you are!” Junkrat yelled at her.

“Where’s the damn treasure?!” She yelled back. “Tell me or else another limb goes.”

“Bite me, bitch!” He replied, getting out his own smaller blade and throwing it aimlessly at her. It scratched her face, nicking the tattoo under her left eye. She raised a hand to it, feeling the blood, and looked back at Jamie, her eyes aflame. Junkrat backed up, only now realizing what he’d done. He turned to run away when he felt a similar pain to his arm, but now in his leg. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, writhing in pain and staining the sand with blood. Ana approached slowly, turning her machete in her hand. She looked even more pissed off than before, if that was even possible. Junkrat couldn’t run away. He was trapped.

God, he’d fucked up.

Junkrat knew by the look in Ana’s eye she was most likely thinking of the best way to kill him. Without him realizing it, he was begging for mercy.

“P-please, mate, I didn’t mean no harm, I’m jus’ tryin’ ta protect m’self. I’m r-really, really sorry, just please stop this... Please don’t kill me, please, please.. I’ll do whatever ya want, just please don’t kill me…” He was shaking and crying now, snot running down his face, and he felt like an idiot. But he guessed that didn’t really matter if he was going to die, right? He’d ruined everything. He’d somehow been able to fuck up literally everything in his life, and now he was going to fuck up at living itself. He was going to die, and he wasn’t even twenty yet. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Ana!” A voice suddenly rang out, and the woman turned around. Another woman stood not too far away, dressed all in white and calling out to her.

“What are you doing?” She continued. “We’re running late, come on! We have to go.” Ana muttered something under her breath before turning back to Junkrat.

“Don’t think we’re done here,” he growled. “I’ll find you and finish the job. Watch your back, Junker.” Then to her friend, “Coming, Angela!” Then she turned and headed off with her friend, leaving him alone and bleeding out fast. Junkrat watched her go off and then fumbled with his bag, pulling out a medpack. He injected first his arm, then his leg, wincing as the skin grew back and formed stumps. Then he sat up straighter, turning and crawling to find some sort of cover for now.

Eventually, he came across some shade under a canopy of trees- rare for the outback. Still though, he was grateful to have it, and he relaxed a little, tired and weak. Reaching into his bag again, he pulled out his canteen, opening it up and taking a good long swig of whatever alcohol he’d left in there- what was that, whiskey? Where the hell did he get that? Whatever. He put the canteen back, leaning against the trunk of one of the trees. He wasn’t going to be able to continue this all alone. He needed help.

***

Junkrat stood in the corner of the bar, leaning against the wall and eyeing every man who happened to walk by. He was looking for the perfect bodyguard, and any tough guy he might need would definitely be here. He shifted uncomfortably, scratching at his arm where it had been cut off. Since he made all of his own bombs, he always had a lot of leftover metal with him, and he’d been able to craft a makeshift leg for himself. He hated it- it was shorter than his actual leg, so he hobbled around like some idiot, it was weak and bent more and more every time he took a step, and it made him feel like a damn Omnic. Disgusting.

He had been eyeing one particular guy for a while now. Tall and well-built, he looked like the kind of guy who could easily kill someone if need be. He was more than enough of what Junkrat needed, and he’d finally built up the courage to talk to him. He took in a deep breath and approached the man.

“O-oi, mate,” he said, sitting down next to the man, “I don’t s’pose you’d be interested in a-” The man got up and left. “Oh. A-alright then. I’ll just… Yeah.” He peeked into the glass the man had left behind before taking a sip of it. He looked around the bar again, looking for someone else to talk to. No one was good enough. No one was- holy shit.

Another man entered the bar, larger than any other person there so far. He was tall, yeah, but his hands were something else. They were huge. They looked like they could rip a man apart like nothing. It terrified him and intrigued him at the same time. Junkrat stood and followed the man to the bar counter.

“So, uh,” he started, “you look like the kinda guy who likes wreckin’ stuff.” The man turned to look at him, his face obscured by a pig-shaped mask. Junkrat swallowed dryly.

“Name’s Junkrat,” he said, holding out his hand for the other to shake. He only stared. “You, uh… Would you be interested in a job?”

“...What kind?” He finally asked.

“Well, uh, y’see, I’ve kinda been a target for bounty hunters an’ all lately, an’ I’m not really in the best condition ta fight ‘em off, y’know? So I’m lookin’ for a bodyguard, and from the likes ‘a you, you exceed my expectations. So, whaddaya say? I’ll be sure ta pay ya richly too.”

“How richly?” He asked.

“Uh, well… How about a sixty/fourty split? Sixty for me, fourty for you.”

“...Fifty-fifty, and it’s a deal.” Junkrat chuckled.

“Y’know what, piggy? You got yerself a deal.” The man finally took Junkrat’s now sore hand and shook it.

“I’m Roadhog,” he said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I’ll be on me best behavior, mate,” Junkrat replied, giggling.


End file.
